It's my birthday. I am trying desperately to push forward but lately I have really been feeling lost.
I miss you Mac...you and I were a team and I miss you.
I find that life is defined by moments and my life is now defined by the moment I said, "Are you telling me my son is dead?"
There was life before that.
There has been life after that.
But who I am is forever defined in that moment.
I find myself pushing the thoughts of you out of my head so that I don't have to feel the pain...the unbearable emptiness that I feel in every ounce of my being.
I have a great deal of faith now. Faith that you are still around me. Faith that you will help guide me to my next defining moment. Faith that you are working to bring me happiness. Faith that I will see the signs that you send. Faith that I will believe in what the rational mind pushes aside and follow the path you are helping to forge for me.
Some days I wonder if I am handling your death better than most mothers would. It isn't that I don't miss you.
I do.
And I am scared beyond comprehension that I will begin to forget things about you. Your silly ways, your laugh, your sly grin.
But I also feel at peace about things.
Living through your addiction never afforded me the opportunity to flourish in my own life.
If I can accept my broken heart will my soul ever be whole again? Was I left here for some greater good? Will I ever find passion in life?
It's my birthday Mac.
This is the start of my new year. Please help me understand what I am suppose to do with it.
When I see you in my dreams you tell me to move forward...you tell me that it was you who made the mistakes, not me.
How do I do that? Move forward? I have no idea where I'm going. I have no direction.
It is as if I am waiting for a new moment to define me.
A moment that isn't about losing you, but in finding me.
Maks, you are everything to me...through the anger and the addiction...I built up walls and had to learn to protect my heart, but you will always be the best thing that I ever had in my life.
You are my whole heart.
I love you to the stars.
And I miss you.
You said you were going to take a role in my life, help my spirit guide and be here for me when I need you.
I need you. Your bear hugs, your laughter...I need your energy to surround me and guide me.
Please let me know you're here with me.
It's my birthday.
I am emotionally stuck. Defined by your death.
I need my next moment. Some glimmer of hope.
Can you help me?
I love you, mama
I Can't Breath
Hold my Hand
Shades of Grey
Dear Maks,
“Are you telling me my son is dead?”
I keep hearing myself say that. Yet it didn’t feel like I said it. It felt like I was watching a movie and that was the most dramatic way for the character to discover the death of her son.
He didn’t answer me ya know. He said I had to call the police department.
Instead of saying you were dead he said, “he couldn’t be revived”.
I thought he was kidding.
I thought I would hear you laugh in the background at any minute because you had fooled me.
I hung up the phone and said, “oh my dear god, it finally happened.”
I didn’t cry.
Instead I fell numb.
I knew I should be hysterical, but I wasn’t.
I was numb.
I began to plan. I said to myself that you would be cremated. I continued to drive. Alone. With no idea where I was going…with no place to go…
Are you telling me my son is dead?
I hear it in my head, every day, over and over.
“He couldn’t be revived”.
I said, “I’m almost there, keep trying.”
He said, “He is cold Laurie”.
Cold.
Again they told me to call the police.
I refused.
They wanted me to identify your body.
I refused.
How could my last image of you be your cold body?
Then I started to cry. Sob actually.
The unimaginable had finally happened.
Somewhere, deep down, I think I always knew that you would die young.
A part of me knew I would speak at your funeral.
I can’t explain that feeling, that vision that I so often had.
But deep down, I knew.
Nothing could have prepared me for the moment I was told you “couldn’t be revived” though.
Nothing.
Why didn’t I see it??? How could I not have seen that you weren’t ready to be sober?
I knew you would struggle, but I never imagined you would use drugs the day you were released from rehab.
I believed in you god dammit.
More than you believed in yourself I guess.
I haven’t told anyone this, but the last time we spoke, the night before I was coming to bring you your things, I felt you weren’t sober. I pushed the thought away, rationally I couldn’t fathom that you were using drugs within 24 hours of being released from treatment. Rationally I didn’t even pause on my thought that you didn’t sound “right”. I ignored my gut instinct to question you. What if I had? Questioned you.
Suppose I would have told you that you sounded “off”? Sure, you would have denied it…but maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t have used that morning for fear that when I arrived I would have been able to see it on your face, in your eyes…the way I saw it every damn time.
Rationally I just couldn’t fathom that you were using.
I forgot that addiction is not rational.
None of it made sense to me then, and it still doesn’t today.
I look at pictures of you and I can still feel you…hear your voice…see your expressions.
It’s like you are on vacation and I will see you again.
But you aren’t, are you? On vacation.
No.
You couldn’t be revived.
You were cold before they even started to bring you back.
Are you telling me my son is dead?
Yes.
They should have just said yes.